


fell like rain into you

by ninemoons42



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blanket Permission, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Brotherhood: Final Fantasy XV, Developing Relationship, Explicit Consent, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Introspection, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Romantic Fluff, Sexual Inexperience, slightly post-brotherhood fic, that turns into nsfw sleeping together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 08:16:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13290813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42
Summary: Prompto opens the door to Noctis, and they hold each other through bad dreams and the cold of the day, and they take the next steps forward in their relationship.





	fell like rain into you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Akumeoi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akumeoi/gifts).



He woke, suddenly, and forgot the pale snowbound horror of his dreams when his thoughts caught up with him and told him that -- actually, sitting at a desk and falling asleep at a desk _hurt_ \-- his hips twinged at him, his locked knees, his numb arms -- and he laughed and maybe he cried, a little, recognizing his surroundings. Recognizing the white noise that was now rising up around him.

Hand to the small window, the pane with its spiderwebbed crack in the corner and the whole assembly not quite closed. Wind whistled in at him, hard enough to riffle the hair at his temple, soft enough to bring him nothing more than the pleasantly metallic smell of the rain. Nothing like the acid and pollution that he seemed to remember so vividly from his nightmares: this rain smelled like good wet earth and drenched leaves, like flowers giving up their sweet scents, like fruit on the way, ripe and lush.

Or maybe he was just thirsty, and he laughed at himself and -- braced his feet on the floor, his hands on the desk.

Stood, slow, muscles burning as they flexed and moved, and he was stable, supported, nothing stiff in the joints at all.

So maybe he’d dodged a bullet, after those six days of intensive training, of finally being able to lift a sword and, more importantly, finally being able to actually fight with one.

One kind of sword, at least, and Prompto summoned up a tired grin, as he eyed the crescent-curve of the practice blade sheathed in the corner next to his gym bag. It was only a little bit longer than his own arm, and maybe that made it easy and comfortable to swing.

Thirst, still, ringing his throat in thorns, and he coughed and crossed the room: out into a short corridor and his own photographs framed on the walls, and into the kitchen. Fruits, sliced, floating serenely in the pitcher full of water: and there was no one else here anyway. No one to see him: and he put the brim of the pitcher right to his mouth and tipped it, carefully, slowly, so he wouldn’t wind up splashing or spilling.

Water, cold and sweet, filling him up, cold in his throat and in his belly and hastily he swallowed a slice of berry, a half of a grape, chewing and swallowing and then gulping down more water, slowly at first, until he tasted sugar on his tongue, until he was swimming in the scents of fruit, and then he pushed the pitcher back into the fridge and licked the last drops of water off the corners of his mouth.

Took a deep breath and now he was sure the wobbliness had left him: too much running and too much training, over the past few days, and he thought his legs and his feet still wanted to move into the sword-forms, and -- no, no, he shook his head firmly at himself. No training right now. No thinking right now.

Crossing back to his desk and the precisely-drawn diagrams, Gladio’s sketches and Ignis’s handwriting, like a thin manual of combat and philosophy: he’d study it some more, but not right now, he thought.

He wanted to turn his mind off right now.

And -- bed, in the middle of the day -- that would surely kill the stray thoughts in their tracks.

If he were asleep he wouldn’t have the ability to doubt himself.

He brushed his hair impatiently out of his face, and went to his front door, and the rain skittered in at his bare feet when he peered out into the world, and --

Black umbrella, too large, and it was on the move.

Prompto squinted, and then:

Throwing motion, from underneath that protective canopy.

He had all of a second’s warning to evade, to step back and fight the instinct to close the door: and in a flash of blue fire to defy the rainstorm, Noctis Lucis Caelum was on his front step, breathless and grinning, high hot flush on his cheeks, and a short blade disappearing in blue sparks.

That Prompto reached out to, brushing a damp fingertip against raindrop-studded hair and the laugh-crinkled corner of his eye. “Should I be running? You with a grin like that?”

“Harsh,” was the response, hoarse with hidden laughter. “I come all the way here, on foot, in this rain, and you want to run away from me.”

“Lies,” Prompto laughed back, and he grabbed Noctis’s wrist to pull him into the house. Umbrella in the foyer, furled and dripping in a plain bucket. “How many times did you warp, trying to get here?”

“Not telling you.”

“So don’t tell me,” and Prompto ran to his room for a dry towel, coming back to drop its white warm bulk right onto Noctis’s head.

For that he got a muffled “Thanks”.

Bed, bed, he had been thinking about going to bed.

So he said, over his shoulder, “I don’t know what you’re doing here, honestly.”

“No homework, no school, no training, and no prince-ing shit to do: so I’m here.”

“You do say the best things, Noct,” he said, and then he was dropping straight into his bed, face-down with a soft thump, and he was absurdly grateful he’d bothered to change the sheets because there was another thump, and he was bouncing across his own pillows, and he cracked open one eye and immediately burst out laughing: because Noctis had simply followed him right into his bedroom and onto the bed.

“And you have the best ideas.”

“Shoes _off_ ,” he complained, just a little, and he wriggled his bare feet into the blankets, tried to get comfortable.

“Yeah yeah.” 

Noctis’s head next to his on the pillows.

Prompto blinked at him for a moment. “You locked the door, right?”

“Um.”

“Idiot,” he said, but he didn’t mean it.

“Sorry.”

Out of the bed again and he double-checked the locks on the front door, made sure he’d closed the windows, and -- 

He stopped in the door to his room, and stared.

Was Noctis actually making the bed? And he looked like he knew what he was doing, as he shook the pillows into fluffy fullness, as he tucked the sheets into admittedly sloppy corners, as he smoothed down the comforters.

Prompto covered his grin with his hand. “All that for -- what?”

“Looks nicer, now.”

“And then you get into it, it doesn’t look so neat any more.”

Shrug. Grin. “Is that going to stop you?”

“Nope,” Prompto said, cheerful as he popped the P sound, and got back into the bed, and sighed, long and luxurious, as he wriggled into the pillows, as he tried to get comfortable.

Movement next to him, and Noctis almost disappearing into a curl of blanket, facing away as he wrapped himself around one of the extra pillows.

Warmth radiated from him, too, and Prompto couldn’t help but be drawn to him, couldn’t help but inch over a little, and he only wanted to borrow a little bit of that warmth.

And no sooner had he touched his shoulder to Noctis’s back than there was a small noise, half a question and half unsatisfied, and Noctis’s hand was moving, flailing backwards, catching at Prompto’s arm and drawing him in.

“You know you can right?”

“I can -- what,” Prompto asked, quietly, smelling that rain-scent in Noctis’s hair.

“This. I mean we do this often enough. We end up like this often enough.” Despite the mumbling, Noctis’s words rang clearly to Prompto. “Unless, I mean, I think Ignis called it blanket permission. You’ve got it, you know that, right?”

“He really called it that? Literally that?” Prompto fitted himself more closely to the shape that Noctis made, so close they were practically just one body beneath the light blankets.

“I don’t, I don’t know,” and the last word was already slurred with sleep and Prompto sighed, and brushed his mouth recklessly against the back of Noctis’s neck, and closed his eyes.

Sound of rain following him straight into sleep, and maybe it was just going to keep on raining and raining and the world beyond the room, beyond the house, would just softly and gently dissolve into that white noise. Disappear, receding, and leave him safe in his bed, safe and curled around Noctis to keep him safe too -- 

It wasn’t meant to be.

The next time he woke up, it was to an almost complete and strange silence.

The roar of the rain was gone.

The only sounds he could hear were the beating of his heart and the breathing of the boy in his arms.

He half-rose and -- cold, cold, howl of the wind as it slashed at his throat and at his cheeks, shocking jolt, like fear, like the echoes of old pain.

He almost rolled himself and Noctis out of the bed and had to settle for something like, something like shielding him, from the cold and from the dark, and maybe it was his imagination but Noctis’s hand was working around his arm, fingers opening and closing, shivering to pull him closer.

“Prom.”

“Noct,” he said, without really thinking about it.

Then blinked, and blinked again: as Noctis half-turned in his arms and now they were staring at each other, practically nose to nose, wide haunted eyes meeting his own. 

“You too?” Noctis whispered.

“I don’t know, me too what?”

In an even smaller voice: “Bad dreams.”

“Maybe?” This close, there was no way he could hide the shiver that ran through him.

“Come here,” Noctis said.

“What?”

And he was being pulled down, strong hands moving on him, drawing him close: he ended up with his ear and his cheek pressed to Noctis’s shirt. Thunder of that heartbeat filling him up, chasing away the strange brooding silences, chasing away the last threading remnants of the cold.

He wrapped his arms around Noctis’s waist and held on, and felt Noctis’s hands close on his shoulders. 

It took him a moment to come back to himself -- but when he did, he looked up, and there were still worried lines lingering in Noctis’s forehead.

“You’re not all right either,” he said.

Watched as Noctis shook his head. “If you can’t remember your dreams, you’re lucky.”

Prompto made a face. “Not all the time. Can’t decide if that’s good or bad though. My brain, it’s bad, sometimes. Plays tricks on me. Makes me think of dark things for no good reason.”

“Yeah, that’s bad.”

“Shouldn’t be crushing you though, just so I feel better.” And he made to roll away, back onto the bed.

“Don’t want to let go yet.”

He smiled, a little. “Didn’t say we were letting go, Noct, get with the program.”

“All right then.”

And he was being turned around and guided, and he almost said, “Hey”, except that Noctis was pressing himself into his back and Prompto sighed, and gave in: sagging backwards in relief.

“Yeah, yeah,” and Noctis was making encouraging sounds. Arms around Prompto’s waist, one of his hands kneading a circle into Prompto’s skin.

“Only fair,” he thought he heard Noctis add.

A breath, gusting warmly, over the back of Prompto’s neck.

He shivered again and, unthinking, pressed closer, and he felt the shape of Noctis’s mouth against his skin, slightly parted lips and a hum and -- 

He blew out a shaky breath when he realized Noctis was still there, still mouthing the back of his neck: “Fuck.”

“You want me to stop?” Those words shaped right next to him.

“No, but -- ”

“Prom.”

He turned around and saw the flush rising on Noctis’s cheeks, felt the answering heat in his own skin as he carded shaking fingers through dark hair, as he drew closer -- or was Noctis craning towards him, too, too careful, too slow? 

Prompto groaned, quietly, and closed the distance between them, and he’d kissed Noctis before -- they’d been this close before, in Noctis’s bed, kissing soft and sweet and far too gentle, and perhaps he was still unsettled by the cold and the silence because he was licking at the corner of Noctis’s mouth, silent plea to be let in, wanting to hear and feel and know what it might be like to really kiss him, really learn the way he kissed -- 

A broken sigh. A yearning sound.

“Sorry,” and a small laugh, and Prompto’s eyes flew open to Noctis’s grin, his eyes lighting up. “Nose,” he heard him say. 

“Keep practicing?” Prompto asked, a little too hopefully.

“Oh yeah,” and Noctis was blurring out again, kissing him again, and this time Noctis seemed to be feeling out the shapes of him, the lines of him, and Prompto muffled his cry in that all-consuming kiss and reached out just as eagerly.

This, too, he knew and he didn’t know, like a map that was half blurred out, but some of the details were still clear. He knew that Noctis shivered like a leaf in a fierce wind when he scraped his teeth against the skin of his throat; he knew that he had to choke back his own cries when Noctis licked at the shell of his ear.

What he didn’t know was -- Noctis’s bare skin from the shoulders on down, and he was almost desperately hungry to know that -- still he listened for the broken syllables of permission, the breathless yearning “Yes, yes,” and then he could, he could -- he felt the innumerable scar-lines cutting over and into that skin and he swallowed the questions, swallowed the thoughts of Noctis as a child limp by the side of the road, at the mercy of dark things -- 

No, no, he needed to feel the vital pulse of Noctis instead. The skin stretched taut over his muscles, the definition of his stomach and the hammering beat of his heart -- this Prompto needed to know, and not just with his hands.

Shivering cries above him, soft sweet sound of his own name, and he looked up in a daze to see the convulsive movement of Noctis’s throat, desperate breath and desperate keen, and he pressed another sloppy kiss to Noctis’s sternum and heard that cry again -- Noctis shifting on the blankets, body twisting this way and that, beautiful in the way he was ruled by his need -- 

He found himself looking at Noctis’s chest, at a nipple gone tight and peaked, and he brushed his fingertip over it and wrung a strangled “Fuck” from Noctis’s mouth -- so he gave in to the instinct to apply his mouth to it, to scrape his teeth very gently over it, and Noctis all but bucked off the bed, all but screamed -- Prompto grinned, and lavished the same treatment on the other one, and every time Noctis swore at him he felt his nerves flare higher and higher, sweet need as sharp and as piercing as pain, straight to his groin.

Speaking of which -- 

“Noctis,” he said, and it had been Noctis who had been shouting, but Prompto heard the hoarse rasp of his own voice and shivered, not exactly understanding, knowing only that he had to do this while he still could -- hands at the buckle of Noctis’s belt, the fly of his trousers beneath that -- he had to ask, he needed to ask, even with the -- what had Noctis called it? Blanket permission? Yes, but also: “This okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, Prom _please_ \-- ”

He blinked, and fumbled the belt and the zipper -- too distracted by the hard heat beneath his fingertips -- and he sort of heard and sort of felt Noctis’s growl, impatient now, and then Prompto fell back as Noctis sat up and shucked his belt and trousers and -- everything else.

As he looked up, and said, “You too -- if you like.”

How could he fail to reciprocate? How could he fail to do the same? Maybe Noctis felt a little shy, doing this, stripping all the way, and -- Prompto saw the tell-tale twist in the corner of his mouth, knew what it meant and he surged forward to kiss that mouth, and before either of them could change their minds he took his clothes off, too.

Everything about Noctis was beautiful, from the haphazard spikes in his hair to the red flush that bloomed irregularly over most of his body. His shoulders and arms, honed with years of sword-work. His cock, hard curve against his thighs. 

Prompto almost wanted him to look away: he almost couldn’t bear the scrutiny of those storm-blue eyes, the way they almost certainly fell on his freckles and his stretch marks and the only other thing he was still wearing, which was the cloth band around his wrist. 

And Noctis did look up at him: but there was such an avid gleam in those eyes. Something fervent, that might also be something true.

“Come here,” he said, and it wasn’t a command. It was nothing of the sort.

Prompto sat, gingerly, in his lap.

Weight of Noctis’s hands, warm, on his hips, and he gasped and tried to hitch closer.

Noctis held his gaze and said, quiet and clear, “I -- I think I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you right now. But, but please believe me, we’re not going anywhere further than this unless. Unless you say. If this is what you want, too. One word, Prom, one word, you tell me _no_ and we’re done here, we’ll -- I don’t know, we’ll try to figure it out. I -- ”

Prompto swallowed, and smiled, and pressed his fingers to Noctis’s mouth. 

“Yeah?” Noctis asked.

“I really really really want this. I want you. However it happens.” He blinked and looked away -- looked down, and blushed, and looked up again. “This wasn’t in the plan, today, was it?”

A grin, and a laugh that shivered through him. “Pretty sure I thought I’d never get here, actually. Like close enough to you to even ask. I didn’t want to assume. Last thing I wanted to do.”

“Forget assumptions,” he said. “We’ll ask. I’ll ask. Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll ask. If I can even find the words -- I’m not like, like you, you’re better at talking than I am.”

“Sometimes,” Prompto said. And: “Talk later though? Can we -- ”

“Oh,” and Noctis laughed again.

This time Prompto leaned in to catch that laugh in a kiss.

And he hissed when he felt the weight of Noctis’s hands moving from his hips to the small of his back -- moving him closer, urging him, and there was a cry that must have been his or Noctis’s or that must have belonged to both of them, the moment their cocks brushed against each other.

If Noctis was bracing him, was keeping him in place -- the rest, maybe he could work on the rest. 

He knew his own touch, of course, knew his own pace, knew how he liked to get off -- Noctis, though -- would he -- 

“Touch me,” Noctis whispered, suddenly.

“Yeah,” Prompto said, and watched his hand shake as he tried to get it around his own cock and Noctis’s at the same time, and -- failed -- 

Labored laughter ringing just below his ear. “Yeah, well, what’d I expect?”

And Noctis was shifting, his hand coming around to join Prompto’s, closing the circle and Prompto shuddered and gasped in a breath, and forced himself to meet Noctis’s eyes, and whisper, “Three, two, one, like -- like sword-drill, slow and we’ll -- we’ll speed up -- ”

Blue eyes blown dark and a dazed nod, a sharp grin, and maybe they fell out of rhythm once or twice but that happened, too, when they were in training, when they were working through forms side by side: somehow they found the pace that sharpened their need, that pulled them up and up and up and higher, needier, and Prompto was swaying desperately atop Noctis’s thighs, Prompto wanted to kiss Noctis so badly and couldn’t, couldn’t muster up the focus, not when their hands were moving _just so_ , not when the pleasure was twisting so forcefully in him and -- he was unraveling, he was starting to lose it, and Noctis was starting to shake as well -- 

Whiteout -- Noctis’s gasp -- 

“Oops.”

The first thought he could understand, again, after -- and he took one look at the wry uptick of Noctis’s eyebrow and burst out laughing.

Slow-dawning grin in response.

Prompto sighed, and heroically sacrificed his shirt to clean up with, and Noctis laughed a little and said, “Sorry. My shirt next time?”

“Or we could just find a rag, or a towel,” he said, and punctuated the words with kisses.

“Okay.”

He was only too happy to hold on to Noctis, afterwards. “You said next time.”

“I know you heard me.” Noctis’s mocking smile was familiar, and Prompto returned it, even as he went on: “Haven’t wanted anyone enough to do things like this with them. I mean, they tell me they want me, and I -- I just never felt anything. I thought something was wrong with me. But then -- then I met you. So -- do whatever you want with that, just don’t -- ”

“I’m not planning to hurt you,” he said, and hitched Noctis closer. “If I do, if we do -- forget assumptions, you said.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Prompto echoed, and he kissed Noctis again, slow and deep, and that kiss pulled him under, and he was glad of it.

**Author's Note:**

> ninemoons42 on Tumblr: [@ninemoons42-lestallumhaven](http://ninemoons42-lestallumhaven.tumblr.com/) or [@ninemoons42](http://ninemoons42.tumblr.com/)


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